


Safe Space

by storieswelove



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: David being reeeeally self-aware, F/M, Friendship, Sex, Smut, ceiling mirrors, vague mentions of past uncomfortable hookups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 09:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storieswelove/pseuds/storieswelove
Summary: "He’s never had a friend like Stevie. She saw him for who he was, at his worst, and she had stayed. He’s overwhelmed, daily, by the intensity of their connection. Of course he wanted to fuck her. What the hell else was he supposed to do with all those feelings? "David has a lot of feelings about Stevie the first time they hook up. He also works very hard to avoid the mirror.





	Safe Space

David doesn’t know why he kisses her now, with all the chances he’s had, while she’s wearing these ridiculous sunglasses and they’re stoned off their asses, except that their faces are inches apart and it feels inevitable, in the best and scariest way possible.

If he’s honest (and what choice does he have? He’s too high to lie to himself), he’s been thinking about kissing Stevie a lot, and he's sure the feeling is mutual. So right now, in this horrifying honeymoon suite he wouldn’t have been caught dead in six months ago, he takes his shot. 

He wants to pretend that Stevie isn’t his type, because admitting that anything good could be found in Schitt’s Creek feels like a profound betrayal of the life he’s lived up until now. But there’s no getting around it — Stevie is exactly who he’d go for, any place, any time. His preferences come in two extremes, with no middle ground: the eerily clean-cut Tilda Swintons and Anderson Coopers, or the vaguely homeless Sebastian Raines and Stevie Budds.

But Stevie isn’t Sebastian, or John the birthday clown who _literally _disappeared into the night. She isn’t Claudia, the performance artist he spent every waking hour with for a month, before she slithered off with nothing more than an “it’s been fun,” leaving a trail of David's heart and self-worth in her wake. Stevie met him at his lowest and made him feel seen. She gave him this space for his clothes. When he'd asked if this was a safe place, she'd said yes with touching sincerity, never once mocking him for clinging to this piece of his life. Stevie, it seemed, actually gave a fuck.

But he has to stop spiraling before this takes a radical shift from good hookup to bad trip. He kisses Stevie harder, grinding against her, his pants rapidly tightening. Her hands are on his back, his skin screaming where there’s contact, even through his sweater. He’s desperate to touch her. He drops what he’s holding, only vaguely aware that he may have shattered two beer bottles in the process.

Stevie pushes him forward, dragging her mouth away from his for just long enough to say “bed.” It’s almost an out of body experience, kissing Stevie fiercely after not touching anyone for so long. He's swimming in the feeling. Stevie switches off the disco ball David hardly noticed as she propels them forward. _Thank god_, he thinks. The last thing David needs is something that absurd to pull him out of the moment mid-fuck. 

He falls back onto the bed with Stevie on top of him, looking up at her and..._what the fuck? _

“Oh my god, what _is_ that?” 

“What?”

“Stevie, there’s a fucking ceiling mirror”

“Mmmm,” is the only response he gets from her while she kisses him enthusiastically.

“No, seriously, Stevie," he pulls back, appalled. "Why is there a ceiling mirror?”

He’s giggling now, because this is all so absurd, and god he hasn’t been this high since the last time he was in New York. There is definitely not enough blood in his head for this. He doesn't need the god damn mirror, like a shitty metaphor about his self-reflection in some made-for-TV movie about his sad life. But Stevie is laughing now too, and it brings him back until they’re both laughing so hard it hurts.

David has had a lot of sex, but he can’t remember a single time he’s laughed with a partner in the middle of it. He thinks he likes it. 

The laughter subsides, and they’re side by side, gazes locked. David is amazed at how beautiful she is. Her eyes are soft and tired, and her smile is lazy. He can’t believe they’re here. He’s wanted her so badly for so long that he can’t think straight. She’s a radical abandon from the people he’s fucked for status, whose approval he wanted more than their bodies. He kisses her again, and it floods him with emotion. This is more than the hollow hookups he chased into his 30s. He doesn’t know _what_ it is, but it’s definitely more. 

Their enthusiasm for each other's bodies builds again quickly. Before long, they’re down to their underwear, his $1200 sweater strewn somewhere on the floor. He knows he’ll regret that in the morning, but he’s going to regret a lot of things in the morning. He may as well keep the self-destruction coming. 

He brings his mind back to Stevie, focusing on how good it feels while she's rubbing him over his boxers. He sucks on her neck, and her groan in his ear sends a shock through him. He wants nothing more than to keep the sound going.

He slides his mouth down slowly, kissing everywhere he stops, listening to her heavy sighs and hitched breath. He fumbles with her bra one-handed, aware that he’s embarrassingly out of practice. He sucks on her nipples, hears her low moan, and he’s sure he’ll crack if he drags this out any more. He's desperate to make her come. He slides down the bed, mouth level with her waistband.

“Is this ok?” he asks as he kisses just above her briefs, suddenly nervous. They’re barely talking, and for two people who constantly talk, sex is a bad time to stop. He doesn’t want to screw this up. He’s screwed this up so many times before.

“Yes, please.” It comes out hot and heavy, and the sound of her wanting him throws his nerves out the window.

David loves going down on people. There’s an intimacy he just can’t get with penetration. He knows it’s crude, but something about having another person’s junk in your face really makes you focus on what, and who, you're doing. It’s been hisescape from the cold, unfeeling sex he’s had so many times, desperate to fill a void he couldn’t name. He admitted this once when he was younger and still hopeful he'd find something real, only to be laughed at and told to turn over. He shut his mouth after that, but he’s never stopped loving it.

And right now, with his tongue buried between Stevie, listening to her groans and gasps while he licks and swirls and occasionally bites, he remembers why. He's _very_ aware of who he’s with, and _oh my god _it is so hot. 

He asks her what she wants more of, less of, and he’s grateful that she tells him. Her orgasm comes hard and fast after that, her hips bucking up at him.David relishes how good he’s made her feel. That’s all he wants. He wants to make his friend feel good.

He’s never had a friend like Stevie. She saw him for who he was, at his worst, and she had stayed. He’s overwhelmed, daily, by the intensity of their connection. Of course he wanted to fuck her. What the hell else was he supposed to do with all those feelings? 

He slides back up, on top of her now, determined to keep kissing, because he knows if they stop they’ll realize what a terrible idea this was. He doesn’t want to deal with that. Not yet. 

Their kisses are just as desperate as before, clawing at each other, like they’re trying to get their fill, and fuck, David thinks he can do this all night.

But soon he flips them over, and Stevie is on top of him. A condom materialize, his boxers are off, and he’s inside her. It's overwhelming in all the best ways, he thinks. He wishes the feeling were more familiar. David can’t make eye contact with her because it’s too intimate, too much, and he’s too vulnerable. He looks anywhere but her and —

“FUCK.”

Stevie stops rolling her hips, clearly jarred.

“What? Did I…do you want to stop?”

“No, it’s the fucking ceiling mirror. I forgot.”

They’re laughing again, David kissing her so he doesn’t have to look at himself, because that’s about ten notches past the vulnerability he can handle right now.

David comes hard with Stevie on top of him, her teeth digging into his shoulder so hard that she might draw blood. It feels so good, and he holds her on top of him as long as he can. 

Too quickly, it’s over. She rolls off of him, and he cleans up the best he can without actually moving, afraid to break the spell. They’re side by side, both panting, and he can see in their reflections (_oh god, the mirror_) that they both have the same dazed smiles on their faces.

Stevie turns to him, eyes bright and still grinning.

“We’re going to regret this in the morning,” she says.

“Mmmm mhmm,” is all David can say through a crooked smile and pursed lips, because it’s so obvious. But right now, he doesn’t think either of them cares.

They kiss again, and it’s so sweet and tender. He’s sure it’s the last time he’ll kiss her, and it stings a little. He keeps the soft kisses going for as long as he can, clinging to the feeling of tonight. He isn’t used to this, the absence of self-loathing or desperation after sex. It’s a scary admission, but everything about the last six months has been one been scary admission after another. What’s one more for the pile?

He holds on to his last minutes of consciousness, afraid of what the morning will bring. This weird, little friendship has been a lifeline. At a point in his life where he thought he was done trusting, he wants to let her in. He feels safe with her, and he’s terrified of losing it. He drifts to sleep, in this room with all of his clothes, because Stevie cared enough to make space for him, hoping beyond all hope that they haven’t screwed this up.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was a lot for me. I have a deep connection to friendships that start with this intense need for a physical connection, because you have no idea how to deal with it otherwise. David and Stevie were the first time I really saw this reflected back at me in fiction, and I've been trying to process it for months. I woke up last Sunday and it just poured out of me for two hours straight. 
> 
> Also, fun fact: I left it alone for a few days, came back to edit, and had completely forgotten I'd written smut because I was so focused on the feelings. I'm trash. 
> 
> Still looking for a beta reader. A few of you offered, but I didn't realize that AO3 has no chat feature. Message me on tumblr @storieswelove, if you're willing and able? Or if you have a brighter idea, I'm all ears. I have a gnarly piece I'm working on that I'm absolutely going to need help with.


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